


Catharsis (When It Rains, It Pours)

by kxllington



Series: the peterick dictionary [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Cuddling, First Kiss, Fluff, Insomnia, Love Confessions, M/M, Song references, Thunderstorms, ab/ap era, is that a tag?, pls read it it's good I promise, thats basically all they're doing in the fic tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7855702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxllington/pseuds/kxllington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I just think it's funny how this is completely normal." The singer replied. Pete readjusted, puzzled.</p><p>"What is?"</p><p>"This. Laying together, like this, not caring how it can be perceived. We're just what we are." Patrick laid his hand flat on the older man's chest, looking out beyond it to the opposite wall. It was out of focus. Everything was, his sight and his thoughts.</p><p>"Which begs the question—" Pete paused for a moment, interrupted by a loud crash of thunder and the bus being illuminated like day, "—what are we?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis (When It Rains, It Pours)

**Author's Note:**

> It's 1:39 in the morning.
> 
> I should really get back on a regular sleeping schedule before school starts.
> 
> Enjoy my Peterick garbage I think this is some of my best writing but it's probably all over the place.
> 
> Goodnight lmao

**ca·thar·sis**

kəˈTHärsəs/ _noun_

 • the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions.

 _synonyms_ : emotional release, relief, release, venting

///////

Bitter rain lashed against the sides of the bus, sending fresh waves of water down the windows of the bunk room every few seconds. A vicious thunderstorm was raging overhead, had been on and off for hours. Every now and again, lightning flashed off in the distance (or worse, nearby) and illuminated the bunk room like it was day. Despite the angry skies overhead, the band inside the bus seemed to be sleeping peacefully. But, an especially loud clap of thunder rattled the tour bus, awakening Patrick.

Patrick groaned softly, readjusting himself in bed. Eyes stubbornly closed, he tried to force himself to sleep again. It had been a really good dream, too, he'd been wrapped up in warmth and familiar inked designs on tan arms and a new tune ringing in his ears. Laying completely still for a moment, he tried to piece back together the abstract cuts of dream he still remembered, the melody from the dream drowned out by the rain beating against the sides of the tour bus. Sighing in defeat, the singer realized sleep wouldn't return to him just yet. Taking the opportunity of being awake to get a drink, he threw his covers back, padding barefoot out of the bunks.

The bus was nearly pitch black, save for the occasional flicker of lightning. Patrick ran his hand along the wall, tiptoeing through the narrow passage to the main living area. He silently cursed himself for not grabbing his glasses before coming out of the room, squinting in the dark. Finally, after nearly stubbing his toe on the couch and tripping over Joe's shoes (why the fuck were they in the middle of the isle), he found purchase on the little counter, stepping carefully around it. Almost immediately, his foot hit something solid and warm.

"Mmph." A soft noise rose up from the ground. Brow furrowed, Patrick reached over the thing on the floor to the sink, flicking the small overhead light on. Below him, spread out across the linoleum, was Pete. His notebook laid open against his arm, untouched. A pen was uncapped and abandoned near his right hand. Pete was staring up at the ceiling, burning a hole into it.

"Why are you up?" Patrick asked, squinting down at the bassist. The older man's dark eyes didn't move from their fixed point on the ceiling above.

"Couldn't sleep. Thunder kept me awake, it was a lot worse earlier." Pete replied, voice blank.

"Well, you'll be able to get some sleep now, it's not too bad." Pete turned his head, his expression unreadable. He looked at Patrick for a long moment, then returned his eyes to the ceiling. Another loud clap of thunder rattled the bus, and the singer gripped the counter to keep his footing.

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"You know why not." Pete's dull tone took a bit of harshness, and Patrick halted. He looked down at his friend for a moment, feeling old worry stir in the pit of his stomach. He definitely knew why not.

Insomnia.

"I can help you, Pete, it's worked before. You can come into my bunk, if you want." Patrick offered. Pete said nothing, continuing his staring contest with nobody. Sighing heavily, the younger man stuck his hand out to lift the bassist, waiting for a response. After a moment, Pete raised his hand, grabbing Patrick's. Smiling, Patrick began pulling.

Then, instead of pulling Pete up, Pete pulled him down.

Patrick landed on top of the older man, cushioned by strong arms gently taking his shoulders. His face was inches from Pete's, and the bassist's lip quirked as he lowered him the rest of the way. Patrick, confused, let himself be readjusted, ending up with his body half on top of Pete's and his head resting on his collarbone. The older man's arm snaked around his waist, holding the singer there.

"Umm, Pete—" Patrick stuttered, trying to free himself. Pete shushed him, tightening his grip on his friend's soft waist. Patrick lifted his head, trying and failing to glare at the bassist.

"I don't feel like moving," Pete reasoned, "I made the floor warm." Patrick stared at Pete for a long while, not knowing what to say or how to react. Sighing internally, the singer just pillowed his head on Pete's chest.

He laid awake with Pete, comfortable silence sweeping over them. Rain continued beating against the sides of the bus, rocking them slightly. Every time thunder would clap, the bassist would tense beneath Patrick, and for some reason that prompted Patrick to bring his hand up beside his head on Pete's chest.

It really should have been awkward, Patrick thought, the intimate position they were in. But after years of being way-too-intimate, it just felt natural. It wasn't worth it to question what they were anymore, they were just them. Just Pete and Patrick.

Patrick was wide awake now, listening to the sound of Pete's heartbeat and tracing little patterns into the fabric of his shirt. Gaze drifting from his dancing fingers to Pete above him, the singer couldn't help but chuckle. Pete lifted his head slightly, peering down his nose.

"What're you laughin' at?" The bassist whispered. Patrick drew a star with his finger, watching intently as he did so.

"I just think it's funny how this is completely normal." The singer replied. Pete readjusted, puzzled.

"What is?"

"This. Laying together, like this, not caring how it can be perceived. We're just what we are." Patrick laid his hand flat on the older man's chest, looking out beyond it to the opposite wall. It was out of focus. Everything was, his sight and his thoughts.

"Which begs the question—" Pete paused for a moment, interrupted by a loud crash of thunder and the bus being illuminated like day, "—what are we?" Patrick sighed, curling his fingers into a loose fist on Pete's chest.

"I thought we decided not to ask ourselves that anymore." The singer muttered. Pete's gaze darted around the room, fingers absently fiddling with the hem of Patrick's shirt. He wet his lips, trying to come up with his words.

"I think...I think tonight I wanna figure out the answer, 'Trick." Pete said hesitantly. Patrick looked up at Pete again, taking in the expression on the older man's face. His eyes, typical whisky colour darkened due the lack of light in the room, held sincerity and honest confusion. The bassist squirmed slightly under his close scrutiny, but kept his arm steady around his waist. Closing his eyes, Patrick dropped his head back down, taking a long breath.

Thunder crashed. Lightning struck somewhere distant. Pete's heartbeat drowned it all out.

"Well," Patrick began after a pregnant pause, mouth suddenly feeling unusually dry, "We're best friends."

"Of course we are." Pete replied. "We have been forever. I've written it into, like, half our songs. _The Kids Aren't Alright_ , _What A Catch_ , even _Bang The Doldrums_."

"Yeah." Patrick readjusted himself, inching upwards to press his forehead into the crook of Pete's neck. "Maybe our answer is in our music." The older man swallowed dryly.

"What do you mean by that?"

" _Catharsis_. The process of releasing and relieving the strong emotions you feel. It's what you do with your lyrics, like I do with mine. Let's look at the other songs we've written. For us, the strong emotions would be whatever ones we're feeling. Maybe we're explaining what we are without realizing it. Or we do realize it, but don't want to admit it." Patrick explained softly. Pete took a deep breath, processing what had been said.

"Do you know of any?" The bassist asked, voice a bare breath over a whisper.

"Yes."

"What one?"

" _Miss Missing You_ was about you." Patrick could feel Pete start at that information, taken aback slightly.

"Really?" He asked, incredulous. Patrick nodded, blinking slowly. He could feel Pete squirming against his long eyelashes tickling the older man's neck.

"Heart whisky eyes, summer skin, all that stuff about missing you. I wrote it during the hiatus, it's so clearly about you." Patrick laughed humourlessly. He'd never admitted that out loud, hardly even admitted it internally. Pete fell silent. Thunder rumbled again, and the bus was buffeted by an especially aggressive wave of rain. Neither of them were paying much attention to it anymore.

"It's your turn, you know." The singer said, resuming his drawings on Pete's chest.

"I'm thinking of one." The bassist replied. His fingers danced over the soft side of Patrick's stomach, copying the other man's tracings into the warm skin. Patrick just nodded again, patiently waiting and continuing his ministrations. They lapsed back into that silence again. Laying there, in the middle of the kitchen floor, listening to the storm raging outside as they tried to quell one that was brewing between them for fifteen years.

" _G.I.N.A.S.F.S._ That's the answer to our question." Pete said finally. Patrick stilled his hand, tensing.

"Yeah." He breathed. The lyrics flowed freely from Patrick's lips before he could stop them. " _Trade baby blues for wide eyed browns, I sleep in your old shirts and walk through this house in your shoes, I know it's strange_..."

" _It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you._ " Pete finished. He wrapped his other arm around the singer, turning his head to bury his face in Patrick's downy hair.

"You know you're supposed to?" Patrick asked, hand slowly coming up to cradle the side of Pete's face. He tucked his fingers behind the bassist's ear, pad of his thumb swiping across his cheekbone. He felt eyelashes flutter against his thumb as Pete exhaled and closed his eyes.

"Back then, I knew I was supposed to. The way we acted, the way I'd kiss your neck onstage and hang off you like a clingy girlfriend, the way I'd crawl into your bunk and just sleep beside you because it made me feel better. I knew I was supposed to love you, but I didn't think I did." Pete explained. He breathed in deeply after that, closing his eyes against another bright flash of lightning. The storm outside was just another thing to ignore in favour of taking in everything about the moment. About Patrick.

He felt Patrick's other arm (which had been limp at his side the entire time) come up beside his head. Calloused fingers threaded into his hair. Then, he felt the younger man's head lift, and found his own being turned and aimed. He opened his eyes to find himself mere inches away from his friend's face.

"You knew you were supposed to then," Patrick whispered shakily, "Do you still think you're supposed to now?" Pete brought a hand up to curl around one of the singer's wrists reassuringly.

"I don't think I'm supposed to." Pete tightened his hold on Patrick's waist, gripping him as though he'd disappear if he didn't. The singer looked hurt, but waited, hands coming to frame his face. Pete smiled then, genuinely, for the first time that night.

"I know that I do."

And that was all it took.

Just as thunder boomed outside, loud and angry, Patrick surged to meet Pete's lips. Time stopped for a split second, the storm outside and their exhaustion melting into nothing. Pete closed his eyes, matching Patrick's passion quickly. Deft fingers curled into shirts and hair, fisting within them as if it could somehow force their bodies closer. It could have been minutes, it could have been fucking years, but Pete and Patrick didn't care. They laid on the floor, finally letting themselves release years of a pent-up something and basking in how it felt.

Eventually, the singer pulled back for air, Pete chasing him as soon as he'd even left. Panting in unison, they stayed perfectly still, letting the moment last. Pete knocked their foreheads together, breaths mingling as he desperately stole tiny pecks from the younger man's lips. The storm outside the bus seemed to dissipate all at once as they laid there, rain slowing to a gentle patter and thunder growing distant. Patrick sighed against the corner of the bassist's mouth.

"A song is writing itself right now." The singer said. Pete just hummed in response, continuing to press kisses along the other man's cheek and jaw. "I had a tune earlier, heard it in my dream..." Patrick's hand snaked back down to Pete's chest, tracing hearts over where the older man's was. "...when I remember what it was we could put the words to it and make something beautiful."

"I know some lyrics already..." Pete mused aloud, nose dragging along where he'd gently kissed as he found new places he hadn't already mouthed at. " _Laid out across the floor of a moving bus, the centre of the storm is just the two of us_." He kissed a path back to Patrick's lips then, tracing swirls into the younger man's hip. Patrick flushed, idly playing with Pete's hair as he listened. " _Lightning flashes as confessions dance on our lips, thunder rumbles as ours meet and we introduce the hips._ " Though he smirked, Pete didn't bother to swivel his hips suggestively. Patrick eyed him, suspicious, but continued where he'd left off.

"' _I'm supposed to love you' is what we used to say...now we're older and know that it's truly that way_." Patrick yawned suddenly, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The bassist chuckled, swiping the singer's tired eyes gently.

"We can work on it tomorrow, you can sleep, 'Trick." Pete said, curling his other arm over Patrick's back. The singer smiled sleepily, nestling his face back into the crook of the older man's neck. Kissing softly once more, Patrick closed his eyes, letting his hands fall slack against Pete's head.

"Pete, I love you." Patrick whispered, barely audible. Pete laughed then, sending vibrations through his body where the singer could feel.

"I love you, too. So fucking much, Patrick." Pete murmured in reply. That was the last thing Patrick heard before he felt sleep tugging at his subconscious, and submitted to it with a smile on his face and a sweet name on his tongue. Both storms had been calmed, and he found himself back in those familiar tattooed arms, with a tune echoing in his ears where the thunder was, and new words of "I love you" layered on top of the music. It created the best song he'd ever heard, more beautiful than any song or storm before it.

///////


End file.
